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About Bordeaux

But then—BOOM—some geezer rocks up, all aggro, like he owns her. I’m like, “Mate, chill, I ain’t stealin’ your crop!”—another *White Material* vibe, cos it’s all territorial, innit? He’s screamin’, I’m scarperin’, heart’s poundin’—nearly shat meself, real talk. Surprised me, that did, cos I thought it’d be chill, like pullin’ teeth, yeah? But nah, it’s a jungle out ere.

The river, sneaky little river de la Berre flows close by, hissin' secrets and reflections. I sometimes do my stretches there, on a shady bank near the old dock. Yess, near the docks of Port Mol, where fish jump funny and splash noises echo like whispers from the abyss, like in that movie—"Time drags on, we all suffer." Blah, blah, so deep and curse-like, hee hee.

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